Just what have I come back to?

In the early hours of this morning I arrived home after 10 glorious days in sunny Ibiza with my amazing family. And already I am flung back to a harsh, harsh reality.

You'd think that returning to a house damaged by water after terrible rain and storms in the area would be the main concern. And, being British, I suppose I have to have my complaint about the weather in here somewhere.

But no. In the grand scheme of things, that water damage doesn't really matter at all. It's not like we can change the weather.

No, what is really concerning, and almost unbelievable, is how I've just come from a country of sun, no worries and the 'party in the Spar' to a one not only dismally depressing in terms of weather, but also overwhelmed by riots and violence. I've returned to a country of destruction at the hands of it's inhabitants. A country of fire and murder and hate.

I'm not going to pretend to know a lot about what's going on. I'm not one to stay completely up to date with news stories and, having been away, I'm even more out of the loop than normal.
It would be impossible NOT to know a few details, though, with the news of the violence even reaching across the oceans.

I'm thankfully not in an area that has been affected (if the situation elsewhere weren't so horrific, the thought of riots occuring in this small retirement town would be quite laughable) but that doesn't mean I'm not absolutely terrified for those I know (and don't know) who ARE in these areas.
I just don't understand it.


Part of me wishes, however selfish this wish might be, that I could go back to lying in the sun, Sex on the Beach in hand, with no worries at all.

Just what have I come back to?!